


enough

by Poe



Series: Bite Tattoo 'verse [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (but not in an angsty way), (feels like stimming should already be a listed tag but Okay), Bite Tattoo 'verse, Gratuitous Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Neurodivergent Stiles Stilinski, Okay so they're not in a relationship but they both wish they could be, POV Derek Hale, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Power Dynamics, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Pack, Stiles Stilinski's Hands, Stiles Stilinski's Scent, Stiles is An Adult, Stimming, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, Tattoos, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28765038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poe/pseuds/Poe
Summary: "What they have, what they've built, outside of the pack as much as either of them ever can be, is fragile and barely there and yet still feels like the most real thing Derek has . It's a wordless thing, in as much as it's impossible to put into words and have those words mean as much as it does."*Or, Derek and Stiles are watching a movie, until they're not.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Bite Tattoo 'verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108868
Comments: 25
Kudos: 214





	enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jesuisgrace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisgrace/gifts).



> Shout out to Gracie Grace (jesuisgrace) who beta'd this and helped make it beautiful. <3 All remaining mistakes are my own.

Stiles is slumped on the sofa, knees splayed and one arm thrown over the back, the other hand levitating the small glass marble he's taken to carrying around. His long fingers curl up around it, not quite touching it, and it rotates like a tiny planet, catching the light and casting it around the room in streaks. 

Derek watches him, ignoring the movie in favour of taking careful note of the way Stiles will drum out a rhythm on the back of the sofa and not realise he's doing it, or tap his foot against the concrete floor. It used to bother Derek, the constant, inexplicable movement, repetitive and grating, until Scott had pulled him aside and told him what to Google, and now Derek gets it a little more, that this is how Stiles' body regulates itself, through taps and tics and even the impossibly floating marble. It grounds Stiles, the same way Derek's wolf grounds him, and so Derek can't find it within himself to be mad at the rhythms Stiles produces, not ignoring them, but instead allowing them to ground him just as equally. 

What they have, what they've built, outside of the pack as much as either of them ever can be, is fragile and barely there and yet still feels like the most real thing Derek has. It's a wordless thing, in as much as it's impossible to put into words and have those words mean as much as it does. 

Derek leans his head a little closer to where Stiles' hand rests, and Stiles moves and closes the distance, settling his hand so that it rests on Derek's nape, fingers stroking the buzzed short hair there. 

Derek is in awe of Stiles' fingers, of his hands, how they move and dance as he talks, and how they're decorated with carefully handpoked tattoo designs, the phases of the moon etched into his knuckles, the wolf's head carefully stippled into his palm. Runes and symbols older than anything Derek can begin to comprehend scattered across bare skin until they begin to run over his wrists and into the black work that looks more like the linocuts Derek used to find in the old books of the family library than anything that should be allowed to move and stretch and breathe. Monsters, some real, some imaginary; the thick scratchy lines that cover real scars; flowers, each with meanings Stiles will take time to explain when Derek asks. And then, _and then_ \- poking out from the oversized t-shirt Stiles is wearing, the fierce black of a bite mark on the tender stretch of Stiles' throat, Derek's bite, pressed carefully into old leather and painstakingly copied over into Stiles' skin, marking him as pack, bite without bite, wolf without wolf. 

It makes Derek's stomach flip a little every time he sees it, makes his heart beat a little faster. Makes him want to line up his teeth and bite down and claim. But Stiles - it's not how it works. Stiles is pack but he belongs only to himself, nobody's beta, nobody's second. Unclaimed. Unclaimable. 

Something explodes on the television and Stiles makes a small noise, eyes flicking over to Derek's to check in, _are you enjoying this too?_ The tilt of his head, the slant of his lips, the slight raise of his eyebrows. And Derek's been caught out, because he couldn't tell you why something exploded or even what movie they're watching. And Stiles knows it. 

The marble drops neatly to Stiles' palm and his fingers close around it and he pockets it carefully, his other hand still on Derek's neck, squeezing a little as he uses Derek's own body as leverage to swing himself into Derek's lap, hips bracketing Derek's thighs, that bite tattoo perfectly in Derek's line of sight and only more revealed as Stiles clasps his hands behind Derek's head and rests their foreheads together, breathing in the air that rushes from Derek's lungs and it's almost like a crime the way he does it, like a thief taking. 

Stiles presses forward, and their lips touch, barely more than a whisper, the calm before the storm, and then Stiles kisses Derek like the force of nature that he is, too fierce by half and sloppy with it, all tongue and teeth and it's like nobody ever taught him to kiss in any other way, like this is all he knows and all he wants to know, and Derek lets himself be caught up in it, lets his hands grip at Stiles hips, lets himself buck upwards against the thin layers of fabric that separate skin from skin. 

Stiles doesn't even pause as he grinds down, moving his hips in a way that makes a mockery of his usual clumsiness. It's sinuous, and Stiles ass brushes against Derek's cock in a way that's close to torture. 

Derek growls and pushes them sideways, rucking up Stiles' t-shirt and pressing his palms wide over the skin there, covering the black lines that exist even there, a buck and a doe on either side of Stiles' ribs. 

Stiles is still on top, and is using that to his advantage. He pushes Derek's own t-shirt up, an old and worn-soft thing he saves for nights like these. Clever fingers work until the shirt is crumpled beneath Derek's armpits, and then Stiles ends the kiss long enough to pull the shirt over Derek's head, before leaning down and latching onto Derek's throat, sucking and biting until Derek knows there's a mark there - one that'll be gone in minutes, but one that echoes the one Stiles displays proudly, like he's unaware of what it does to Derek to see it on him. 

Stiles' hands are on the waistband of Derek's sweatpants, and Derek takes the opportunity to capture them and hold them between them, Stiles' delicate wrists held in one hand and pressed to his chest, whilst Derek uses his other hand to pull Stiles in close, finally getting his mouth on that bite, licking a stripe over it before bruising it and the pale skin it frames, a mark within a mark, something that won't fade for days, something that makes his wolf both sated and want more all at once. 

Stiles plays dirty and grinds down on Derek again, and Derek gasps, dragging careful teeth down to Stiles' bicep, distracting as his hand finds Stiles' own waistband and slides under, feeling the hot length of Stiles and the way he's so ready for Derek, the musk of him hitting the back of Derek's throat as he breathes in. 

Stiles shifts a little and whines as Derek refuses to let go of his hands, still holding them in place as he takes Stiles in hand and begins to work him over until he's squirming and writhing and his entire body is shaking with the effort of keeping himself together, like he may just shake out of his skin entirely if he lets himself go. 

"Come on," Derek murmurs, and Stiles tenses, eyes closing, biting his lip and fluttering his eyelashes as he tries to hold off, some display of dominance, an attempt at control, and Derek loves this, the power Stiles has even as he's about to break apart, and he leans forward and captures Stiles' mouth again, not really a kiss as they pant against each other, more like reassurance. _You can let go, I've got you._

Stiles comes with a moan that seems to pull from every inch of himself, and coats Derek's hand, before slumping forward, Derek finally letting his wrists go so that he can catch himself, clumsy now, defences down. 

But not defeated. 

He has one hand on Derek's cock and the other bruisingly in Derek's hair before Derek can blink, kissing Derek again with that elemental fury, storms, hurricanes, destruction without devastation. Derek can feel it building, the warmth flooding his body and making it difficult to think, all he knows is _Stiles Stiles Stiles_ and that's all he can mouth against Stiles' lips as he comes, floating for a second or minutes or hours before falling back to earth, body arching then collapsing against the sofa, and Stiles, finally, finally content, heartbeat wild but softening, wipes his hand on Derek's stomach and rests his face in the crook of Derek's neck, and Derek can feel him breathing, can feel his heart's rhythm through his t-shirt and echoing through Derek's own skin. 

Stiles taps absently, fingers against Derek's ribs, and Derek, sticky, content and feeling utterly boneless, lets him tap out that gentle rhythm, skin on skin reaching for something deeper. 

"Is this enough?" Stiles murmurs into the skin of Derek's throat, breath whispering over and causing Derek to shiver. "Whatever this is, is it enough?"

 _It's everything_ , Derek wants to reply. _It's all I think about when you're not here. I think I'd go mad if you took this away._

He doesn't say that. 

"Yeah," he says instead, stroking a hand through Stiles' hair. "Yeah, it's enough."

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY so. 
> 
> I maybe have a slight Thing for tattooed!Stiles, who knew? And then I asked Gracie what her perfect fic would involve, and well. This happened. In my defence, Stiles climbed on Derek's lap all by himself.
> 
> As an author with autism and probably ADHD too (the co-morbidity rate is 80%) I wanted to like... put some of that in there. It is genuinely weird that 'stim' and 'stimming' aren't tags you can use on AO3 and you have to type them in yourself. Definitely not getting on That particular rant right now. 
> 
> Palm tattoos can stay! I've had mine for two years now, they just have to be stippled in (so dot by dot rather than as clean lines like you'd normally see in tattoos). I figure Stiles is around 19/20 here? And went to a good artist who knew what they were doing.
> 
> This is all Grace's fault. 
> 
> Also there will be more of this 'verse because I want them to actually figure out if they're in a relationship or not (THEY ARE, spoiler alert) and also more about Stiles' magic and tattoos. Also, as a Very Ace person, it was very funny to send this to Grace who is a Very Not Ace person and I want to do that again. I'm the worst friend.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at jbbarnes.tumblr.com where I'm reblogging fanart that's half a decade old because apparently that's my life now. *peace sign emoji*
> 
> Comments and kudos let me know I'm doing something right, so thank you in advance! Take care, and stay safe. <3


End file.
